


arboreal maneouvres

by MissSpookyEyes



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alien Biology, Blow Jobs With Teeth, Cathar dick, Dubious Consent, Elara Dorne deserves a thorough railing, Facials, I'm so sorry, Multi, No Apologies, Oral Sex, Restraints, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Fingering, a seriously thorough railing, absolute filth, all Imperials have a non-human kink I don't make the rules, awkward aftercare, did you read the tag that said DUBIOUS CONSENT? OK good, furry penises, this breaks every reg in the book and Elara knows it, when sexy scenarios take on a hideous life of their own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSpookyEyes/pseuds/MissSpookyEyes
Summary: What are two Republic soldiers to do with a pretty, captured Imperial, all helpless and at their mercy?(Or: Havoc Squad’s vacations are almost as exciting as their missions)
Relationships: Elara Dorne/Female Republic Trooper, Female Republic Trooper/Aric Jorgan/Elara Dorne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	arboreal maneouvres

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you start with an incredibly specific image in your head and then your earnest belief that Elara Dorne deserves a really thorough railing takes over. 
> 
> I played fast and loose with Cathar biology at several points as well as with the whole concept of an uninhabited sex moon. No regrets.

The Imperial soldier lay with her face pressed to the forest floor, and listened with all her might.

She might have been a child of Dromund Kaas, but she had been on many survival exercises and wilderness training courses, and she knew how busy the silence of the forest could be, how the tiniest rustle in the leaf mould or smallest creak of a rotten branch could be magnified in the long darkness of a night watch. Still, she had known that her comrades slept nearby, ready to be roused in a second by her signal. 

It was only now that she was alone that she realised how comforting that knowledge had been.

Rationally, she knew it did no good to strain her ears listening for footsteps; they would come when they would come, and that was all there was to it. But there was just something about lying bound and blindfolded on the forest floor which made logic powerless to soothe.

They hadn't treated her too roughly so far - but then, there hadn't been time. She had led them a sufficiently long and frustrating chase through the woods (Arboreal Manoeuvres: Evasion and Pursuit Tactics for Wooded Environments was a Level III course at the Academy, and you had better believe she'd received an Aurek) that by the time they caught up with her, they were in too much of a hurry to track down the rest of her squad to do more than drag her back to their camp. Once there, they had hurriedly stripped her of her weapons, medkit and comms and trussed her up like a ronto, wrists tied to ankles, before leaving her face down on the forest floor and hurrying to try to prevent the shuttle from taking off.

They had had the foresight to stuff a hood over her head, though. Without that, she might have had a slim chance of wriggling and shuffling her way around the camp, maybe finding something to cut herself loose or at least being able to take proper stock of her surroundings. As it was, if she tried to move she ran the risk of inching her way right into one of the laser tripwires or pressure mines that surrounded the camp. They may be Republic soldiers but they weren't _completely_ stupid.

So she could stop herself from expending too much energy in trying to move, or even in relieving her feelings by rubbing her wrists raw against the ropes; but not all her rationality could keep her from straining her ears for the sound of her captors returning. And as the - minutes? Hours? - wore on, and she became increasingly aware of the silence stretching on for miles around, unbroken, with herself a tiny, helpless speck in the midst of it, she had to fight to prevent herself from longing for it.

It was, consequently, with a shameful stab of relief that she finally heard it: Footsteps. The heavy tread of the captain, and the much lighter, more measured footfalls of the ... other one. Her pulse quickened. 

'- explaining this one to the general.' That was the woman, anger and frustration riding high in her tones.

'I'm no happier than you are.' She recognized that voice, too - deep, rasping, male. She shivered.

'A whole kriffing platoon getting off-world from under our noses, thanks to this one.' A toe prodded her side; they were standing right above her, looking down on her prone body. 'If she hadn't led us on such a wild thranta chase, we'd have got to the shuttle in time.'

'At least we still have her.' 

'Yeah, one little Imp. That'll make up for letting the strike team get away.' Sarcasm throbbed through the woman's tone. 'Hey, can Marks of Victory be revoked? Because don't be surprised if the general rips them off our chests for this, and takes a little skin and fur with them.' She could hear the woman moving around, the sounds of equipment being discarded, the familiar clicks of comm-channel checks; it would just be for show. With the shuttle gone, the only people left on this entire moon were the three of them. 'How long 'till extraction?'

'Fourteen hours, twenty-six minutes,' the male replied. From the sounds of things, he hadn't moved from his position, keeping watch over her prone figure. 

'Great. Kriffing spectacular.' More equipment sounds, the woman muttering angrily under her breath. Then the sound of someone sitting down. 'Well, get the Imp up and take off the hood, Lieutenant. We may as well see who we're dealing with.'

She heard a knee land in the leaves beside her, and tensed as she felt a tugging at the bonds. The ropes that held her wrists secured to her ankles loosened, and then her legs were free. She was sorely tempted to kick, even though she knew it would be stupid, but before she could, she felt herself being pulled to her knees, wrists secured behind her. Her head was still swimming from the abrupt change of position after so long lying on her belly when the hood was pulled off and she found herself blinking in the late afternoon sunlight.

She was kneeling in the middle of the Republic soldiers' small camp. The deep-voiced male was still behind her where she could not see him, but sitting across from her on an equipment crate was the female, captain's stripes visible on the collar of the black undershirt she wore beneath standard heavy armour in white, a logo on chest and sleeves in vivid orange. She was a Zabrak: Not one of those you sometimes saw on the streets of Dromund Kaas, with their vivid black-and-red colouration, bulging with muscle and bristling with horns, but one of the lighter-skinned Republic type, tattoos bisecting her forehead and sweeping across her cheeks from the inner corners of her pale blue eyes to the outer corners of her generous mouth, continuing down her chin and neck until they disappeared beneath her uniform. A crescent of shining, pointed horns studded her hairline, beyond which thick, jet-black hair stood up in a profusion of soft spikes which covered her head. Add in the small pigtails which protruded from the base of her skull at an angle, and she gave the impression of a barely-contained explosion.

'What a surprise,' the woman said, eyeing the unhooded prisoner caustically. 'A human.'

The male stepped out from behind her back to take a look at her, too, and she looked up to return his gaze. Whereas the female was no more than average height and distinctly on the stocky side, when she looked up at the male her gaze travelled up the considerable length of a lithe body built on decidedly feline lines, long-legged, slim-hipped, broad-shouldered. His armour was lighter, as befitted his sinewy frame, but it, too, bore the vivid orange logo.

There were lieutenant's stripes on his collar, but it wasn't the insignia that held her gaze. Where his grey undershirt ended at the base of his neck, it gave way to fur, fur which covered his neck, head and hands and by implication his whole body, short enough to be more like the velvet of the Silika which still thrived on arboreal planets. The pale tan on neck, chin and cheeks gave way to burnt umber on his wide nose, where the sensitive nostrils flared as if detecting scents imperceptible to humans, ringed his deep-set eyes and covered his hairless head. The intricately ridged and pointed ears shaded from ochre to sienna to a delicate peach at the base, and the darkest tints on his entire head rimmed his nostrils and ringed his eyes, shadowing the unmistakably alien glare, molten gold irises in jade green sclera, with which he fixed her.

'Maybe she can tell us where the strike team was headed.'

The captain shook her head, producing a small flask from somewhere and unscrewing the lid. 'She won't know. They don't brief them on the target until they're on the last leg of the journey, not for an op like this.' She took a swallow from the flask, grimaced, and took another. 'Whatever she can tell us, it won't be that.' She screwed the lid back on and tossed the flask. 

The Cathar snagged it out of the air with one hand, without ever taking his eyes off the woman at his feet. He unscrewed the lid and took a belt himself; she could smell the vapours of some kind of spirit, as if she didn't already know it was alcohol. Undisciplined Republic soldiers. 'She could tell us something.'

'Not this type. Don't you know they brainwash their soldiers? The Jedi can sift her for answers, but we won't get more out of her than name, rank and serial number. Not in fourteen hours.' The Zabrak leaned forward, elbows braced on knees, and locked eyes with her. 'Will we, sweetheart?'

She swallowed. 'Sergeant Elara Dorne, Third Platoon, serial number M74-552-16Y2.'

'See?' It was directed at the Cathar, but the captain kept staring at Elara, studying her face. 'She looks familiar.'

'They all look the same to me.'

The Zabrak showed teeth in a mirthless smile. 'They do at that.' She tilted her head on one side, still studying Elara's face intently. 'Kaasian-raised, I'll bet. Parents career officers? Military school in Kaas City, reciting the Oath of Loyalty while you were still in your diapers ... Never had a friend your parents didn't approve of, did you, princess? Probably even got a nice arranged marriage waiting for you in a couple of years, some genetically-screened specimen from another military family who salutes in his sleep and gets hard from filling out forms in triplicate.' She shook her head in disgust. 'May as well have been grown in a vat. But that's not it.'

It was like being under the full glare of twin suns, the captain studying her so intently it was like she was trying to memorise her face, the lieutenant glaring down at her. 'Sergeant Elara Dorne, Third Platoon, serial number -'

'That's it!' The Zabrak slapped her hand down on her armoured thigh, then began to laugh. 'Oh, you're not going to believe this, Jorgan.'

'What?'

'This is too good.' She was still shaking with laughter. 'Remember I told you my first posting was out on Anteesh? Guard duty at that listening post? Six-week rotations in a two-room bunker, nothing to do between drops but watch whatever drivel was on the local HoloNet channels. Treacly Imp soap operas and ass-licking profiles of members of the Dark Council. Druk like you can't imagine.'

'So?' he growled.

'Well, they used to have these public service announcements between shows. You know the sort. Some beefed-up pureblood in fancy armour telling you the best way you can fight the Republic is to properly sort your metals from your used charge packs when you recycle. Or a little golden-haired moppet begs you to report your friends and neighbours if they show any signs of sympathising with the enemy. Become a government informer! Fabulous prizes to be won!' She leaned forward again, eyes fixed on Elara's face. 'Well, guess who I used to see ten times a day on the HoloNet, delivering a sincere warning about the dangers of interspecies fraternisation?'

'Her?' The Cathar said incredulously.

'That's right. I thought everyone on the ad was a bad actor. I guess the propaganda types thought it would add a layer of authenticity, using real citizens. Young and old, rich and poor, soldier and civilian, uniting to warn of the real threat to the Empire: Alien-fucking.' She shook her head slowly. 'I saw that piece of druk vid so many times I could recite the stupid thing. "Did you know the real danger to the Empire is one only you can fight?"' Her voice had taken on the clipped tones of Dromund Kaas, and the breathless, perky sincerity of a propaganda broadcast. '"The treacherous Republic can assail us from without, but as long as we stay strong from within, the Empire will never fall. Stay strong in the face of exotic temptations! Do your part to maintain the genetic integrity of our great society! Remember, stick to your own kind, keep the family safe and whole and the Empire will prevail!"' Her voice dropped to its usual register and accent. 'That was you, wasn't it?'

'Sergeant Elara Dorne, Third Platoon -'

'And you know exactly what you were talking about in that vid, don't you?' the captain went on, talking over Elara. 'Because you know non-human slaves and sex workers are going to be raped and exploited no matter what, don't you? You weren't saying, "Don't fuck aliens." Because you know if they made that law, there'd be rioting on the streets of Dromund Kaas - if they could even find a lawmaker who isn't sticking his dick into the choicest exotic temptation he can find. You were saying, "Don't impregnate aliens, or if you do, for the Emperor's sake don't be tempted to acknowledge paternity, recognize their rights or, Sith forbid it, include them in your family in any way."' She had slid from her seat on the crate and was kneeling in front of Elara so they were face to face, so that the prisoner could not look away. '"Don't ever forget they're pets and animals, not people." Wasn't that your message?'

Suddenly, without warning, the Zabrak's hand lashed out, and Elara flinched reflexively. But the blow never made contact. The captain, the back of her hand hovering centimetres from Elara's face, smiled again, and if there was no more humour in it than before, there was a considerable amount of satisfaction. 'Looks like you belong to the animals now, Imp.'

Elara’s voice wavered as she asked: 'What are you going to do to me?' 

'Nothing so very terrible.' The back of the Zabrak's hand caressed Elara's cheek lightly, dropped to her jaw, thumb underneath her chin, pushing it up. 'You're our responsibility for the next fourteen hours, after all - you might even say our pet.' A gloved forefinger stroked across her cheek. ‘And we all know how well Imperials treat their pets. And the things they do to them when they get bored.' 

Abruptly, she leaned in and pressed her lips to Elara's in an insistent kiss. Elara's mouth had been slightly open in shock, and the captain took full advantage, sliding her tongue between Elara's lips as her fingers gripped her jaw. Elara recovered her senses and went to bite, but before she could, she felt the captain's teeth pinch closed on the tip of her own tongue. 

The Zabrak pulled away, laughing as Elara yelped. 'Remember that, pet - bite me and I'll bite you back.' She looked meaningfully up at the Cathar, and Elara could not help but follow her gaze. 'And some of us have fangs.' 

On cue, the lieutenant bared his teeth, revealing a set of shining incisors. Elara could not help herself; she shuddered. 

'I think our little princess likes you,' the captain noticed, sitting back on her haunches. There was an odd mixture of satisfaction and jealousy in her tone, but by the time Elara looked back at her, there was only smug anticipation on the tattooed face. 'Get her up.' 

The Cathar reached down and hauled Elara to her feet by one arm. After so long on her stomach and then her knees, her legs buckled underneath her and she would have fallen if not for his grip on her. The captain stood too, stepping in close to the Cathar's other side as Elara swayed in his grip. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear, so soft and so close that Elara could not hear the words, but could not stop herself from picturing the captain's breath stirring the fine hairs. 

Then the Zabrak stepped away, returning her gaze to Elara. 'He's going to strip you naked now,' she said, her tone businesslike. 'I suggest you don't resist, because if you do - Jorgan, show her your claws.' 

The lieutenant's thin lips parted and revealed another flash of teeth as he lifted a hand. The shape of it was human, but covered in more of that fur, pale tan on the palm, burnt umber on the back. There were no nails on the ends of those long fingers, but as she watched, the fingers flexed and she could not control her frightened gasp at the sight of the shining claws. 

'Fight us, and he'll use them on you. In a way you won't enjoy,' the Zabrak added meaningfully, and Elara flushed at the insinuation in her tone. 

The captain nodded at the Cathar. 'Release her hands.' 

The lieutenant moved behind her, and she shivered at the velvety touch of his fingers on her wrists as he untied her. 

'Hands on your head.' 

Elara reluctantly lifted her hands to her head, interlacing her fingers behind the back of her skull. 

'You can't do this,' she protested, more for form's sake than anything, as she felt the Cathar begin to unfasten the shoulder clasps of her armour. 

'No, I'm pretty sure we can.' The captain was moving things around, rearranging crates and bedrolls, all the time watching the lieutenant begin to strip Elara of her armour. 

'Mistreatment of prisoners is strictly prohibited by Article 5 of the Treaty of Coruscant -' 

'So is launching surgical strikes against Republic bases on non-aligned worlds, but that's what your squad is on its way to do right now, isn't it? And thanks to you, we couldn't stop them.' The Zabrak flashed her a sarcastic smile as she dragged another equipment crate over to the one she had been sitting on earlier. 'You can't blame us for wanting to salvage something from the day.' 

Elara's breastplate dropped to the ground; the Cathar moved round in front of her, his hands dropping to work on the clasp of her belt. 'C-civilised persons do not treat other sentients this way -' 

'You're right,' the Zabrak agreed thoughtfully, and the Cathar's fingers paused, but a moment later the captain had shrugged. 'But we're not civilised persons, are we? Not according to you anyway.' She sat back down on the crate, watching as the Cathar resumed the process of quickly and efficiently stripping Elara of her armour. 'We're just animals, isn't that right? We can't help giving in to our baser instincts. That's why it's up to upstanding citizens like you to protect the Empire by staying strong in the face of exotic temptations.'

Elara flushed again at the mockery in the captain's tone, shifting uneasily on the spot as more of her armour dropped to the forest floor. 'You - you're just proving me right by behaving like this - doing this to me!'

'If you can't beat them, enjoy them.'

The Cathar had all her armour plates off now, leaving her in her padded shirt and trousers, and was lifting one foot to get at her boots. Elara wobbled unsteadily on her standing leg, fighting for balance against the rising panic, her eyes locked with the Zabrak's. 'Please, you can't - you can't really mean -'

The captain lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. 'We've got fourteen hours to kill, and I didn't bring a pazaak deck.'

'I did,' the Cathar growled, as he finished pulling off Elara's boot and sock. Her foot looked shockingly white and naked as he lowered it back on to the forest floor; he was handling her like a farm animal. A wave of heat followed on the heels of that thought. 'But this is more fun.'

Elara's boots joined the pile of armour lying around her feet, pale and swimming in the drift of leaves. The captain watched, chin propped on hand, as the Cathar unzipped her padded shirt and tugged it off forcefully, pulling her hands down from her head and her arms behind her back as he peeled off the tight-fitting material.

'Hands back on your head unless he tells you otherwise,' the Zabrak instructed.

Elara complied reluctantly. She was down now to her sleeveless undershirt, her trousers and underwear, and the Cathar was already deftly unfastening the waistband of her trousers. A moment later, she felt for the first time the soft brush of velvet fingertips against her bare skin, grazing her stomach, her thighs as he pulled down her trousers to expose her thighs.

The calm, businesslike nature of his movements as he continued to undress her piece by piece added to the discomfort of the situation. Elara didn't even like to be naked in the curtained darkness of her apartment, not in front of another person; she didn't like to ... display herself like that, preferring to keep at least something on until the most heated moments of any sexual tryst, by which time things generally had their own momentum and were carrying her along fast enough to get over any embarrassment. It was something her infrequent lovers had often teased her about, which had only made her more reluctant to share their more casual attitude towards nakedness. 

She could never have imagined that she would one day find herself standing barefoot in a forest clearing, being methodically stripped by one Republic officer while another watched, drinking in the sight as each new area of pale skin was bathed in the slanting sunlight of the late afternoon. It felt almost like being peeled, like the lieutenant was taking her skin off along with her trousers, her undershirt, exposing raw, pulsing flesh beneath. Elara had long since dropped her gaze, unable to meet the Zabrak's avid stare any longer; she stared unseeing at the ground, hands still clasping the back of her head, biting her tongue to keep back the tears of humiliation she could feel gathering in her eyes. Her heart was thumping so loudly in her chest she felt like it must be audible, but neither of the Republic soldiers spoke a word.

The Cathar was so close to her that she felt his breath on the back of her neck as he unclasped her bra; it was even, unhurried, as if he was totally unaffected by this, which only made the constant shivers she was unable to suppress whenever his fingertips brushed her bare skin more humiliating. She dropped her hands, obedient to his tug, to let her unclasped bra slide down her arms, joining the rest of her discarded clothing on the ground. She could not stop herself from cringing and hunching, covering her breasts -

'Hands up.'

The growled command was not one she could disobey. Elara lifted her hands again to the back of her head with a fresh surge of shame, conscious of how the posture pulled her shoulders back and lifted her breasts as if they were on display, miserably conscious, too, of her nipples puckered and hard in the cool breeze that whispered across her skin.

She stared blindly over the Zabrak's head into the trees, trying not to embarrass herself further by giving into the urge to squirm and cringe as she felt those long, deft fingers - still unhurried and methodical - slide under the waistband of her regulation-issue underwear and tug them down with one swift motion, exposing the last of her to the trees, the air.

She heard the captain give a long sigh, and despite herself, lowered her gaze to where the Zabrak sat, her pale blue eyes unabashedly drinking in every inch of Elara's exposed body. To see herself being surveyed like that was too much; she squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing coming faster, feeling waves of heat sweep up from her feet and knowing that the captain was watching appreciatively as the blush reddened every bit of her.

'Lovely,' she heard the Zabrak say, and there was an oddly reverent tone in her voice, but it was replaced with the familiar mockery as the captain went on. 'Forget a pazaak deck, we should've brought a holocam. Made a recording.' Elara heard the Cathar snicker where he knelt, lifting one of her bare feet to free it from the leg of her underwear. '"Innocent Imperial officer ravished by savage aliens until she begs for mercy." I bet our girl here has watched a few vids like that, haven't you, pet?'

'If I had, they wouldn't have featured Republic scum like you,' Elara spat, opening her eyes despite herself.

'Oh, I think I touched a nerve.' The Zabrak leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes calculating. 'You know what, Jorgan? I think our princess of genetic purity here is a closet alien-fucker. At least in her sordid little fantasies.'

The Cathar straightened up; Elara glanced up at his face, fleetingly, and closed her eyes again. 'Not sure about that, sir.'

'Come on, she's been wanting you to take a bite out of her ever since we dragged her back here.' The Zabrak nodded towards Elara. 'Go ahead, touch her.'

Elara tried to tell herself not to react as she felt the light brush of fingertips trailing up her thigh, a slither of rough velvet following the curve of her hip and up her side, but ...

'See?' That odd note of jealousy danced in and out of the captain's voice again. 'Every time.'

'Still not convinced,' he said, as Elara cringed away from his touch, as much to stop the humiliating shivers she couldn't control as anything else. 

'Haven't you ever had an Imp before? Nothing turns them on more than pretending they don’t want it. You just have to warm them up right.' The captain settled herself more comfortably on the crate she was sitting on, and gestured. 'Bring her to me.'

The lieutenant's hand closed around her upper arm, and pushed her forwards; Elara tensed to resist, but felt the faintest prick of claws, and although tears sprang to her eyes again at this latest humiliation, she allowed him to push her towards the captain. 

'Bring her here. Down. That's right, pet. Lean back, I've got you.' 

Shaking with embarrassment and suppressed rage, Elara allowed herself to be manoeuvred by the two Republic officers until she was lying stretched out across the captain's lap, face up, the captain's right thigh supporting both of hers, her left beneath Elara's back, her head and shoulders propped up by the captain's left arm. The plates of the captain's armour, her thigh guards and breastplate and arm coverings, threatened to dig uncomfortably into Elara's skin, but the contrast between her own exposed state and the fully-dressed soldiers stung even worse; both of them, wearing full armour and staring down at her while she lay supine and stripped naked, ready to be used ...

The Zabrak had made at least one concession to undressing, however; she had pulled off her gloves. Bare fingertips, warm and rough with callouses, traced swooping, artless lines over Elara’s skin, like a skater alone on a frozen lake. She closed her eyes again, blocking out the sky above her, the faces bent over her. 

'I love humans,' the Zabrak sighed, as her fingertips spiralled the swell of Elara's breast. 'They're so ... pink in places.'

'Too cold,' the Cathar disagreed in his deep rumble. 

'You think so? 'Cause I guarantee I can make our little pet catch fire.' The Zabrak's fingers left Elara's breast, where they had been drifting lazily over her nipple. 'Just watch.'

Elara had squeezed her thighs tightly together the second she felt the Zabrak's hand start to move down, but the captain made no comment, nor did she try to force Elara's thighs apart. Instead, she smoothed her palm lightly over Elara's mound once, twice, then ran it over the top of her thigh towards her hip before stroking slowly across her belly to the other side. Her touch was far too soft to be considered a massage, but it wasn't precisely teasing, either; just long, lingering caresses, fingers circling the hip bone, then following the swell at the top of her thigh down to where it was pressed tightly against the other. She did not try to press her hand in between Elara's thighs, but let the heel of her hand caress the mound - one, two, three lazy circles - then followed it with fingers tracing up over her thigh to her hip, round her hipbone, a glide of the palm across Elara's belly to the other side and the whole circuit repeated again at the same unhurried pace.

The long, lazy strokes, the rhythm of it, worked its magic on Elara against her will, calming her, soothing her. She felt her breathing start to slow, to settle into a rhythm that matched the pace of the warm fingers spreading and smoothing across her skin, or maybe the captain was varying her pace to match Elara's breathing, she could not tell for certain. Beyond their breath and the faint whisper of skin against skin, there was nothing but the silence of the forest, distant birdsong, the trees sighing along with her.

Elara had relaxed the first fierce clench of her thighs, although still keeping them pressed tightly together, and the captain's fingers started to stray infinitesimally deeper, two fingertips tracing slowly down from the top of Elara's slit, stopping just before they met resistance and returning along the same path. Down and up, down and up, as if there was all the time in the world.

Elara turned her head blindly, and the dazzling sunlight turned the inside of her eyelids hot pink. She wished the captain would speak, would taunt her again, mock her - just the sound of her voice, the Republic accent, the informality, would help her to snap out of it, help her to resist the growing urge to part her thighs, to tilt her pelvis up, chasing more of that touch, pushing those maddening fingertips further, deeper ...

She must have relaxed her thighs further, although she had not been aware of it, because without any invasive pressure the tip and pad of the Zabrak's middle finger was going further, was reaching deeper, the path it was tracing up and down her slit growing longer. She could feel herself, oh stars, she could _feel_ herself opening up with every lazy, unhurried lap, so that the fingertips, without any added pressure, were dipping just that little bit deeper every time.

What bliss it would have been to rock her hips, to squirm, to give some expression to the wonderful ache she could feel building, but she dare not capitulate, dared not risk exposing any more of herself to the Zabrak's fingers, because that would have been admitting that she liked it, that she liked this, that she wanted more. And the need to hold herself still, to simply lay mute and passive in her captor's lap, was only fuelling what was growing in her.

She was beaten but she wasn't admitting defeat, not then, not after everything that had been said, not until she absolutely had to. So she kept her eyes closed, pretending that she couldn't feel the Cathar's gaze on her, scorching as the sunlight; pretending she didn't hear the increasingly ragged, quick sound of her own breathing; pretending her thighs weren't ever so gradually relaxing as her cunt opened up to the caressing fingers taking such demonically unhurried and circuitous possession of it. 

It was only a matter of time then until the Zabrak's finger worked its way deeper still, pressing as far towards her opening as it could go, then stroking upwards, bringing moisture with it until, at last, Elara felt the first brush against her clit. 

She inhaled sharply, arching her back reflexively, blushing again at the thought of her swollen nipples thrusting into the air as if presenting themselves for the hungry gazes of her captors, but unable to stay quite still as the Zabrak worked her fingertip delicately against the underside of Elara's clit. Still the captain did not speak, did not taunt Elara even though the effect she was having on the prone woman must have been obvious to her. She used her thumb and middle finger to spread Elara's folds, and with her middle finger circled the knot of flesh without touching it, until Elara was on the verge of crying out. Then she pressed her finger down towards Elara's opening, letting the flat of her palm brush against the nub while she stroked the wetness up, spreading it everywhere, making sure that when she started to draw the tiniest of circles on the tip of Elara's clit that her finger would slide with nothing but the most agonizingly delicious friction against the swollen flesh. She kept that up for minutes, pausing only to reach for more moisture, never varying her unhurried tempo, until she was satisfied; then again the spreading, the teasing circling without making contact, the flattened palm as her finger probed towards Elara's opening, the same pattern, the same pace, over and over again.

Elara was drowning. She had long ago abandoned her defenses, letting her thighs fall open, a wanton invitation to the Zabrak to take all of her, to thrust inside her, an invitation torturously ignored; she writhed on the captain's lap, her head tossing from side to side, panting, licking her lips, the fingers of her pinned hands clutching at the air. She could feel herself tightening, twitching, trying to hasten the onset of the orgasm she could feel building oh so slowly, but the Zabrak's touch was too slow, too patient, too unhurried; she obviously didn't care if it took Elara all day to come, she didn't care if Elara went out of her mind with pleasure, there would be no mercy ...

She felt the Zabrak shift underneath her as if adjusting position as her fingers once more spread Elara open, and a moment later, cool air puffed across her twitching clit. 

Elara cried out.

There was a low chuckle, and the Zabrak shifted position again, her arm propping Elara's shoulders up at a higher angle, fingers turning her head to face outwards; all the while her other hand continued its work between Elara's thighs. 'Open your eyes,' she ordered softly, and Elara obeyed, squinting and blinking against the sunlight. 'Look what you're doing to him.'

The Cathar stood over them, his gaze travelling ravenously from the fluttering fingers at the junction of Elara's thighs across her heaving breasts and up to her face, then down again. He was still wearing his armour, but was palming himself through his trousers, and growling almost inaudibly under his breath.

'Show her,' the Zabrak ordered.

His wicked grin split his face. Slowly, relishing Elara's transfixed gaze, he unfastened his trousers. His dick sprang free at the exact moment that the Zabrak slipped a finger inside Elara for the first time.

Elara arched helplessly, half-curling in the Zabrak's lap, unable to look away. If there had been any doubt that the Cathar was, well, alien, there was none now. His phallus was thinner than the average human's, and longer; it also had a curiously pointed appearance, lacking the flared head but instead tapering to what was almost a point. As he stroked his fist slowly up and down it, closing his eyes and shuddering with the slippery, feline grace which characterized everything he did, Elara saw that it was mostly covered in the same short, velvety fur which clung to the rest of his body, burnt umber at the base, flaring redder and then growing paler until fur gave way to red, swollen, shining skin about an inch from the tip.

He opened his eyes, caught her fascinated gaze, and grinned again, rolling his head slowly from side to side as if relishing the sensuous relaxation of muscles long held clenched as he stroked himself slowly up and down. 'Gotta say, Captain,' he growled, 'when you're right, you're right.'

'Oh, this is nothing. Watch this.' The Zabrak pulled her fingers from between Elara's thighs, and Elara saw her grin at the protesting moan that had elicited before she manoeuvred Elara upright so that she was sitting in the captain's lap, the captain's strong thighs beneath hers, her hands gripping on to the arm the captain had wrapped around her waist to keep her from falling. 'I think it's about time our little pet screamed for us, don't you, Lieutenant?'

And she thrust two fingers right into Elara's cunt.

Elara bucked and jolted, but with the captain's arm wrapped around her body there was not much she could do - even if she had wanted to, because the Zabrak's previous patient, unhurried, maddeningly methodical caresses had given way to something much more urgent. She fucked Elara rapidly and ruthlessly with her fingers, thrusting straight in and out while the heel of her hand fluttered and pattered against Elara's swollen clit. It would not normally have been the way that Elara wanted to be touched, but after the torturously long, slow build-up, her body welcomed it like rain in the desert and she squirmed and writhed ecstatically in the captain's strong arms, her head falling back. The Zabrak bent her own head, Elara felt the touch of the captain's teeth on her neck just as the fingers inside her curled and the flickering pressure against her clit intensified, and that was it, she was coming, her long-awaited orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave.

The Zabrak slowed her thrusts but did not stop them as Elara rode out her orgasm impaled on the captain's strong fingers, her hips still stuttering out aftershocks against the Zabrak's palm as she slumped back into the arms that held her, gasping for breath.

They let her have her moment, not speaking as she shuddered and shook in the captain's arms, but as her breathing began to return to normal, the Cathar said: 'Well, I don't know if I'd call that a scream.'

Elara felt the breath against her neck as the Zabrak laughed. 'Oh yeah?'

'It was definitely something, all right.' He was still lazily stroking himself, the last rays of sunlight glinting off the rich red of his fur as Elara opened unbelieving eyes to stare at him. 'I heard a moan, for sure. Maybe even a cry. Definitely a yelp. But I'm not sure it was a scream, no, sir.'

'Hmmm. I guess we'll just have to try harder.' The captain withdrew her fingers from Elara's cunt, making the woman twitch and squirm feebly, and extended them, glistening, toward the Cathar. 'And I think I know exactly what to do.'

He had bent to wrap his tongue around her fingers, lapping and sucking hungrily at the taste of Elara on the captain's hand, but at her words he stopped and inclined his head inquisitively, letting her fingers slide out of his mouth. 'Oh?'

'That's right.' The Zabrak dropped both hands to Elara's thighs, pulling them remorselessly apart as she squirmed in protest, exposing the swollen, dripping centre. 'I think it's time the princess here learned what a Cathar tongue can do.'

The lieutenant grinned again, exposing those fangs, and dropped to his knees. 'You think she's ready for that, Captain?'

'I don't care.' The Zabrak's hands tugged at Elara's thighs, spreading them even wider. 'Make her scream, Lieutenant.'

All her sense of wellbeing from her recent orgasm ebbing away, Elara wriggled helplessly in the captain's grasp as she watched the Cathar draw closer. What might have been an ungainly proceeding when performed by a human man was transformed by his easy grace into something predatory, a slinking forward between her thighs like he was stalking prey. She jumped, startled, as he suddenly ducked his head to rub his cheek against her thigh, the rough velvet of his fur a blur of texture against such sensitive skin.

'He's marking you with his scent,' the Zabrak said quietly, as the Cathar repeated the procedure on the other thigh, making Elara jump and squirm again. Now that Elara's thighs were kept open by the Cathar's body between them, she had wrapped her arm around Elara's body again, keeping her arms pinned to her sides; her other hand cupped Elara's breast, thumb teasing softly at her nipple, as the breath of her speech stirred the fine hairs on the back of Elara's neck. 'We can't smell it, but they can. For the next month or so, any Cathar who comes near you will smell that scent on your thighs and they'll know you've been taken by one of theirs. Even if you get rescued tomorrow and taken back to the Empire, it won't matter. You could be walking down the streets of Dromund Kaas and pass some noble leading their Cathar slave and that slave will turn and look at you and even though he's the one in chains, princess, he'll still know what you are.'

Jorgan was kneeling right in front of them now, his molten-gold eyes meeting Elara's, his face inscrutable but his gaze burning.

'Give her a taste, Jorgan.'

A mirthless flash of fangs. 'Yes, sir.'

He bent his head, and Elara tensed as she felt the tip of his tongue make contact with her skin - then jumped and shuddered, sucking in a sharp breath, as he dragged the flat over the inside of her thigh in a long, lazy swipe. The roughness of it, as if the sinuous muscle was coated with tens of thousands of tiny tiny barbs which hooked and caught on her skin over and over again as he licked her; the heavy, abrasive drag of it ... It was not painful, not quite, not on the skin of her inner thigh, but on her cunt, her clit ... 

She wriggled in the Zabrak's hold. 'No - you can't - not there -'

'No?' The captain lifted a hand to Elara's face, turned her jaw so that they were looking into each other's eyes. They held position, the two of them and the Cathar kneeling at their feet, for a long slow count of five, but when nobody spoke again, the Zabrak nipped gently at Elara's bottom lip with her teeth and said, 'We're not in the business of mercy, princess. Do it.'

A low growl answered her order, and Elara braced herself as she felt Jorgan's breath, the brush of his velvety skin against the inside of her thighs, and then the first exploratory touch of the tip of his tongue as he worked his way into her folds, and then - 

And then - 

Elara jolted violently as she felt his tongue flatten and drag up through her inner lips and over her clit. She sucked in a lungful of air and held it as he repeated the motion, over and over, long, slow, lazy licks which refused to spare a millimetre of her sensitive inner surfaces, always ending with a lingering brush against her clit which made every nerve sing in an agonised outburst.

She wanted to twist and writhe, but the captain's arms were wrapped around her upper body, the captain's ankles hooked around her own, keeping her locked in place and exposed for the Cathar's tongue to feast upon. He was holding her open with his fingers now, and she felt his nose nudge against her clit - a rasp of velvety fur across her senses - and the glancing touch of his fangs as he lowered his mouth to her entrance. His tongue was nowhere near as thick or as strong as a human tongue, but it was much more flexible, probing and furling and sliding into recesses never before explored, and she whimpered as it worked its way inside her.

The Zabrak's own mouth was kissing and sucking at her neck, her shoulder, the strong arms keeping her upright as she squirmed, suspended on the tormenting, intrusive tongue which was circling deeper and deeper as his velvety nose brushed against her clit.

'Talk to me, princess.' The captain's breath in her ear added another thread to the web of sensation in which Elara was enmeshed. 'Tell me how it feels.'

'I don't - I can't -' She had never been good at using her words during sex, and to be asked to find them now, to describe this incredible, agonising feeling, was another sting of humiliation against her burning skin. 'It feels - oh - oh - oh stars - I can't, I can't, I can't -'

His tongue was darting and flickering inside her now, rapid thrusts and stabs of rough fire, and she felt the reverberations of the Zabrak's low laugh through her own body as she jerked helplessly against another fleeting touch of teeth. 'Oh - oh fuck - it's too much -'

'Nothing's too much for a girl like you.' The Zabrak reached down and touched the back of the Cathar's head, and as if it was a signal, Elara felt that tormenting tongue pulling out of her, bringing a momentary respite from the sensations overwhelming her.

She sagged back in the captain's arms, ashamed to hear herself moan in mingled disappointment and relief.

A moan which, a second later, became a cry when his tongue descended on her clit.

She had felt it against her clit before, but that had been in the course of exploratory licks and passing brushes. Now he gave it his full attention, lavished it with the textured surface of his tongue, tortured it with a methodical thoroughness which spoke of a single-minded determination to drive her as far out of her damn mind as possible.

Elara bucked frantically and uselessly against the captain's grip as the tip of the Cathar's tongue danced against her clit, mindlessly digging the nails of her pinned hands into the arm that held her. She barely even registered the newness and strangeness of the fur-covered fingers that slipped inside her, too overwhelmed by the assault on her most sensitive flesh from that flexible, abrasive tongue as it swirled and curled around her. She was talking, pleading, strings of words spilling from her mouth, begging for mercy, begging for more, and then the words became noises, sounds she had never made before in her life, moaning and wailing and whimpering uncontrollably as her thighs shook frantically and her hips dashed themselves desperately against his mouth and then -

And then he sucked her clit firmly into his mouth and pushed his tongue hard, hard against it. 

She came with a sound like a shipwreck victim, a sound she had not known her throat was capable of making, her fingernails scoring deep lines in the arms that held her while her hips pulsed out her pleasure in irregular bursts against the Cathar's mouth. He stayed with her throughout, moving away from her clit to lap around the fingers still buried inside her, licking up the juices but keeping his open mouth pressed against her as she half-sobbed her way through a series of diminishing waves of sensation, each one lesser than the preceding one but still with a sharp nip of pleasure at the crest which made every muscle tense.

Finally and too soon it was over and she was lying limp in the captain's arms, her head resting on the Zabrak's shoulder, her breath still catching occasionally as it slowly returned to normal.

Elara felt the Cathar's fingers slip out of her and sensed him shuffling back from where he knelt between her thighs. She did not have to look to know that his usually inscrutable face wore a distinctly self-satisfied expression when he remarked, 'Now that was a scream.'

'It sure was. I think our little pet surprised herself with that one.' The Zabrak's fingers stroked Elara's forehead, wiping away the sweat. 'I'm surprised they didn't teach you better manners in those fancy Dromund Kaas schools, though. Good girls say "Thank you, Lieutenant."'

'Thank you, Lieutenant,' Elara mumbled, still swimming in a post-orgasmic haze.

She felt, for the second time, the Zabrak's laughter rumbling through her as if their two bodies, despite the armour plates between them, had become one in their long embrace. 'That's not exactly what I had in mind. Was it what you had in mind, Jorgan?'

'Not really, sir.'

If Elara had had any blushes left, she would have definitely coloured when she lifted her head and opened her eyes to see the expression on the Cathar's face as he stood looking down at her, still fully dressed except for his unbuckled trousers and the dick that stood up straight as an arrow against his stomach, waiting.

She felt the whisper of the Zabrak's horns catching in her sweat-soaked hair as the captain ducked her head to bite gently on Elara's ear. 'Now, are you going to waste our time pretending you don't want this? Or are you going to get down on your knees and suck Jorgan's dick like you've been wanting to do since you saw him - today?'

It turned out she did have one blush left after all. She felt it flooding her cheeks as she nodded, weakly.

'There's a good little Imperial pet.' The captain kissed her just below the ear. 'And just so you know, while you're sucking his dick, I'm going to fuck you from behind until you come again. Get on your knees.'

Released from the captain's arms, Elara pushed herself up from the Zabrak's lap, her bare skin parting from the durasteel plates with an embarrassing noise. She did not know if her legs would have supported her anyway; it felt pathetically natural to drop to knees sticky with sweat, to crawl the length of the unrolled sleeping bag with her breasts swaying beneath her while the Cathar watched until she came to rest at his feet.

She reached up with a tentative hand, but a narrowing of his eyes forestalled her, and she dropped it to her side again.

'Open your mouth,' he growled, and she felt a swoop in her stomach at the tone he was using to her, the way he was giving her orders, 'and close your eyes.'

Elara obeyed. She closed her eyes, and opened her mouth, her tongue wavering in the centre of it, uncertain as the moment stretched out.

She jumped as she felt something, something burning hot, brush against her cheek and the corner of her mouth; and then again, on the other cheek. Instinctively, she turned her head to try to capture it with her open mouth, but there was the faintest hint of a warning growl, and, warned, she held still. He was teasing her, toying with her, rubbing it in - no, rubbing it on, she thought with a hint of hysteria, sliding and brushing it against her cheeks, her lips, denying her his dick like it was a treat she was waiting to have fed into her waiting mouth. Saliva was pooling in the bottom of her mouth with the length of time she'd been sat here holding it open, oh fuck, she could not start to drool, that would be too much, crouched at his feet like a starving dog with her mouth watering ...

Still, when he at last slid his dick into her open mouth, her lips closed around him gratefully. She had not known what to expect from the texture, but it was not the unpleasant fuzziness she had dreaded: The slightly rougher fur near the base had the shivery drag of the skin of a stoned fruit against her tongue, but it rapidly became silky smooth until the point at which the fur gave way to skin was almost imperceptible. It was hotter than a human's, she could feel the heat throbbing through the fur, but that wasn't unpleasant either, just different. She fastened her lips around the slender shaft in a tight seal as she worked as much of him into her mouth as she could manage, tongue fluttering against the underside, then let him almost slide out of her mouth before tightening around him again, concentrating on the tip.

It would have been an easy moment to get lost in, but instead she heard the captain say, 'How's she doing?'

She sensed the Cathar's shrug above her. 'Not bad.'

'Let's see if I can give her some encouragement.' 

The Cathar's hands gripped her head, not tight, but holding it steady as the captain encouraged Elara on to hands and knees. She felt a small, shameful surge of pride that she had not let the lieutenant's dick slip out of her mouth, had not faltered in her task; stung by his words, once she was balanced safely on all fours, she concentrated with renewed vigour. Cathar had rough tongues, as she had recently learned in a very direct and personal way; maybe they needed more stimulation than a human tongue could necessarily provide. Without her hands, she fell back on her teeth; she bobbed her head forward, drawing as much of him into her mouth as possible, then dragged both sets of teeth lightly up his shaft as she pulled up. She got the desired reaction immediately when she heard him hiss, a soft and somehow much more animal sound than she had ever heard from him before, and his fingers tightened infinitesimally on her head.

Concentrating on getting those sounds again, she obeyed almost absent-mindedly when she felt the captain nudging her thighs wider apart. The Zabrak's hands were running over the backs of her thighs, her ass, and Elara heard a quiet noise of appreciation; another time it would have mortified her to know that the picture she made was being enjoyed so frankly, but for now she was focused on getting the Cathar to make that hissing noise again, running her teeth lightly up his shaft once, twice, then several times in as quick succession as she could, feeling him twitch in her mouth.

When the Zabrak smacked her ass, one cheek right after the other, it surprised a moan out of her and that, in turn, had the Cathar thrusting his hips forward for the first time. 'Make her do that again,' he growled.

'Patience, Lieutenant.' 

Eyes watering, Elara licked and flicked frantically at the tip of the Cathar's dick with her tongue as she felt something nudging at her entrance, working its way inside her, something smooth and cool and curved. She was still so wet from her previous orgasms that the Zabrak did not have to do too much to get it in her, although she went slowly nevertheless, wiggling and twisting the thing and working it in a few centimetres at a time.

Elara had expected to feel the Zabrak's hips and thighs settle against hers when the toy went far enough, but she did not, and as the other woman started to slowly withdraw it and push it back in, Elara realised that the captain was using her hand to pump the thing inside her. Somehow, it made it more humiliating; with the Zabrak's hips smacking into hers, her warm weight on Elara's back, maybe the touch of her hands, there would have been some pretense of making love, but with the captain kneeling beside her, watching with those appraising ice-blue eyes as she clinically worked the toy in and out, it was made excruciatingly clear that there was none. Elara wasn't a partner in this, not an equal; she was the toy, there to be pleasured and used and tormented until the whims of the other two were satisfied.

She really didn't want to know why that thought made her tighten and drip around the toy inside her. 

The captain set an insistent rhythm between Elara's thighs, which Elara could already feel starting to tremble. She never usually came without direct stimulation to her clit, but after two tremendous orgasms already, and with the way the Zabrak was twisting and pumping that thing inside her like she knew exactly how to hit all of Elara's spots, and on her hands and knees with her mouth full of Cathar dick, Elara was willing to bet that all bets were off. She didn't think she would be punished if she came before the Cathar did, but she knew the captain would make her keep going until he was satisfied (and the thought of herself shuddering and weeping and mindlessly licking and sucking through an orgasm, unable to cry out as she was taken mercilessly from behind, oh stars, oh fuck) and, besides, Elara Dorne did not do things badly when she could do things well.

So she curled her fingers into the bedroll beneath her and tried whatever she could to please, her efforts getting more frantic and less controlled, sucking and licking and taking as much of him into her mouth as she could reach. The more desperately she worked, the less methodical she became, the more he seemed to enjoy it; each indrawn breath was a hiss now, each exhale a low growl, and those sounds in turn, like everything else she was seeing and hearing and feeling, seemed to go straight to her cunt, had her tightening and shuddering and dripping around the thing the captain was fucking her with, and oh fuck, everything in this situation was just driving her faster and faster towards the edge ...

The Zabrak started to spank Elara's ass in time with each thrust, the smack of flesh against flesh adding to the shamefully wet sounds coming from both ends of her body, and Elara couldn't keep from moaning with each blow, and that had the Cathar making sounds that Elara didn't even know the words to describe as his fingers tightened on her head and he started to fuck her mouth for the first time, shallow thrusts as if he was restraining himself from ramming deeper but lightning quick and burning hot, and she was no longer giving pleasure but having it taken from her, simply being used for it, and that had every limb trembling underneath her.

And that had the Zabrak reaching for Elara's clit and rolling it expertly, dispassionately, between finger and thumb and she was, Elara was, she was going to, she couldn't hold it back any longer ...

Then the Cathar made a sound she had never heard before, not a growl, not a snarl, but a full-throated cry, and with one hand he pulled his dick out of her desperately-working mouth. His other hand tightened on her head and she felt, at the same moment, the prick of his claws against her scalp and the first burning touch of his semen landing on her face. And just like that she was coming, again, wailing and convulsing as the Zabrak mercilessly wrung every drop of pleasure from her clit and the Cathar painted her face with his come.

Her limbs would no longer support her and she collapsed face-first onto the sleeping bag, shuddering and sweating and still coming. She snatched at a breath and gasped out: ' _Protocol._ '

They had both lost their grip on her when she fell, but at the sound of that word, Elara heard them instantly retreat, both backing off from her. She was left alone, lying naked and face down in the forest clearing, just trying to remember how to breathe.

After what seemed like a few moments, she heard above the pounding of her heart the sound of tentative footsteps approaching from behind her. Elara turned her head and saw a folded undershirt and a pair of loose exercise trousers being placed next to her, and then an open water container, before the footsteps backed away again.

Shakily, she reached for the clothes first, pulling the shirt over her head and wriggling into the trousers; they smelled clean and she was aware of both her heartbeat and her breathing slowing as she smoothed the fabric over skin which still showed a distinct tendency to quiver. Then she reached for the water container, taking small sips and counting to three between them until her throat no longer felt quite so raw.

There was another rustle of booted feet in the leaves and she looked up at Kith. The sun had gone down while Elara had quite literally been in no position to notice, and the clearing was now lit by their camp lamps as the last of the light faded from the sky. In their orange glow, Kith's tattooed face looked concerned, almost frightened, and the way that she held out what was in her hands - a blanket and a small foldaway washbasin - was timid. 'Can I?'

Elara wasn’t quite ready to speak yet, but she nodded, and smiled. 

Kith dropped to her knees beside the bedroll and put down the washbasin before shaking out the blanket and placing it delicately around Elara's shoulders, careful not to touch her any more than necessary. Elara pulled the blanket around her, shivering a little - she was realising now it was not warm - and watched as Kith carefully dipped a cloth in the washbasin and wrung it out. 'Can I?' she asked again. 

'Please.' Elara closed her eyes and tilted her chin up as Kith put one hand beneath it, using the other to clumsily but gently clean the drying streaks of semen, mingled with sweat and tears and dirt, from Elara's face.

'Are you all right?' Kith asked, a barely-concealed tremor of anxiety in her voice. 'Was it - did I - too much?'

Elara closed her eyes as Kith continued to wash her face. 'I'm fine, and yes, it was too much.' She felt Kith's hand freeze and reached for it. 'That's what made it perfect.'

She heard her captain breathe a long sigh of relief, and felt her fingers squeezed hard for a second before Kith let go. 'Well, OK then.' She continued to wash Elara's face.

Elara sat still, enjoying the gentle, warm touch of the washcloth on her face, listening to the silence around them, broken only by the whispering of the leaves in the breeze and the sound of one or two birds still bravely singing despite the rapidly falling night. 'Wait - where's Jorgan?' she roused herself to ask, realising she could no longer hear the lieutenant moving about.

'He's giving us a minute.' Kith dipped the cloth in the washbasin and wrung it out again, thoroughly.

'Tactful of him.' 

'Yeah, well, he probably needed a minute too.' Kith's fingers were still trembling as she finished sponging off Elara's face. 'It got pretty intense back there, I don't know if you noticed.' Elara opened her eyes, and surprised another almost frightened expression on her captain's face before she saw Elara looking and resumed her familiar mocking half-smile. 'And you know Jorgan, he's a big ol' softy.' She gave Elara's cheek one last brush, then dropped the washcloth back in the basin. 'There. Do you want some more water? Do you -'

'Kith.' Elara cut her off, as she would never dream of doing in a briefing. 'Come here. Hold me. Please?'

She saw some of the tension leave her captain's broad shoulders as she smiled. 'Can I take my armour off first?'

'Please.'

Kith was already unfastening her breastplate, stripping off belt and thigh plates and arm guards with the speed of a seasoned soldier, abandoning the durasteel pieces to the forest floor with a sigh of relief. 'I thought it would be more effective to keep it on, you know, for the scenario.'

'It was.' Elara put a hand to her neck, pulled against it to try to loosen sore muscles. 'Effective and uncomfortable.'

Kith stilled. 'I hurt you?'

Elara shook her head, exasperated. 'Would you just stop worrying and come here? Preferably in that order?'

'Sir, yes, sir.' Kith, now in her padded undershirt and trousers, crawled on to the sleeping bag and sat back against a convenient crate, pulling Elara gently into her arms and wrapping the blanket more securely around her. 

'That's better.' Elara curled up against Kith in her favourite position and nuzzled her head into her captain's broad shoulder, enjoying the chance to sit like this with Kith, to be held by her in the dark and the quiet ...

'Are you sure you're all right?' 

Elara puffed out an exasperated sigh.

'I'm sorry, I just - I wanted so badly for it to be what you wanted. Maybe I went too far -'

Elara fumbled a hand free of the blankets, pressed it against Kith's lips. 'It was things I didn't know I wanted. It was perfect. Now please stop ruining it.'

She felt Kith's lips curve under her fingers. 'OK, OK.' They sat quietly for a moment, then Kith lifted her head from where it had been resting against Elara's, responding to something only she could see or hear. 'Jorgan's coming back.'

Elara dropped her voice to a whisper. 'Am I going to have to assuage his insecurities, too?'

'Jorgan doesn't have insecurities. I don't think,' Kith added doubtfully. 'But you might want to apologise for calling him Republic scum.'

'I called you Republic scum too.'

'Yeah, well, I'm not sensitive like he is.' Kith raised her voice as Elara muffled her giggle in the blankets. 'Hey, Jorgan.'

Like Kith, Jorgan had taken the opportunity to shed his armour; without it, his dark clothing blended admirably with the gathering night, and he seemed to emerge from it abruptly, almost on top of them. 'Captain,' he rumbled uncertainly, his eyes flicking between them. 'You all right, Dorne?'

'I'm very well, thank you,' she answered sweetly, feeling another inappropriate urge to laugh. She couldn't remember the last time things had seemed quite so funny.

'I wanted to say -' Jorgan lifted one hand to rub nervously at the back of his head. 'I might have said - that is, I'm sorry if I -'

Elara rolled her eyes. 'Would you please just come and sit with us and be quiet?'

'For real?'

Kith lifted a hand in disclaimer as Jorgan's gaze travelled to her. 'Don't look at me. Dorne's in charge now, apparently.'

'Yes, well, someone has to compel you two to enjoy the moment,' Elara responded tartly as Jorgan, moving tentatively, sat down on Elara's other side. Initially, he was not touching her at all, but after a moment, he shuffled closer, just close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body. 

The three of them sat there in silence for a few moments, until Kith, unexpectedly, started to laugh, the tremors reverberating through Elara's body. 'What?'

'I was just thinking it's lucky this moon's uninhabited, that's all.'

'Lucky?' Elara echoed, roused by indignation.

'Come on, Captain, you know Dorne's research leaves nothing to chance,' Jorgan chimed in. 

'Yeah, yeah, all right.' Kith rubbed her cheek against Elara's temple. 'And you can drop the "Captain", OK? Just for tonight. It won't kill you.'

'That an order, sir?' 

'Fuck's sake.' Kith dropped her head back against the crate in mock exasperation as Elara and Jorgan both laughed quietly. 'Look, we're on vacation. And even Dorne here probably doesn't know how many regulations we broke tonight.'

'Actually -'

Mingled groans from either side of her cut Elara off. 

'At least we can agree on one thing,' Jorgan said.

'What's that?'

Elara didn't need to see the smile on Jorgan's face to know it was there. 'Camping was a better vacation idea than Nar Shaddaa after all.'

She nestled further into Kith's arms, enjoying the steady warmth of Jorgan pressed against her other side. 'You're welcome.'

**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars, the universe thereof, SWTOR, Elara Dorne and Aric Jorgan belong to not-me.
> 
> Kith Zenna is my Zabrak Republic Trooper, she goes too far to please the ones she loves and I love her with my life.
> 
> Sincere thanks to @verbose-vespertine for her encouragement and helpful comments on this piece of absolute filth.


End file.
